


The Case of the Oblivious Heart

by firesign10



Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Community: spn_cinema, Friends to Lovers, Inspired by Arthur Conan Doyle, Inspired by Sherlock Holmes, Inspired by a Movie, M/M, Pining, SPN Cinema Genre Challenge
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-04
Updated: 2016-10-04
Packaged: 2018-08-19 13:01:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,826
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8209462
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/firesign10/pseuds/firesign10
Summary: Recently retired from the British Army, Doctor Jensen Ackles shares rooms in London with the eccentric and notable detective, Jared Padalecki.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the fall 2016 round of [SPN_Cinema](spn_cinema.livejournal.com). Huge shout-out for my AMAZING artist, [eprimacol](eprimacol.livejournal.com), who basically picked my idea and me out of the blue! People, this is some gorgeous art, be sure to leave her scads of feedback! THANK YOU!!!! 
> 
> Thanks to the lovely [roxymissrose](roxymissrose.livejournal.com) and [milly_gal](milly_gal.livejournal.com) for alpha reads, and the fabulous [theatregirl7299](theatregirl7299.livejournal.com)for her beta work, stamp of approval, and being an ace sounding board :-D

[ ](http://ic.pics.livejournal.com/firesign10/4507356/99728/99728_original.png)

The London day was bleak and raw, and Padalecki and I were chilled through by the time we made it into our residence. I watched him as he flung his hat onto a chair and dropped his long body onto the chaise before the fire. Mrs. Smith, always so capable of course, had already lit it for our return, and tea was laid on the table before it. I shed my topcoat and gloves, moving to stand before the fire, gratefully soaking in the heat after the cold and damp of outside.

“That was rather on the dire side,” I said casually, rubbing my hands briskly. “Dire” scarcely covered what we'd endured the last six hours—the waiting, the suspense, the running, the fighting--but I felt that to say more would not lure my roommate out of the despondency that seemed imminent, but instead push him into it faster.

Indeed, he merely grunted, his body lax upon the chaise, still wearing his own cape, regardless of the rain now dripping off of it onto the hearth. I tsked as I went behind him and took hold of the sodden garment, tugging gently. He moved docilely enough, rolling forward a bit in order to let me free the damp wool from his body and pull it away. “Now, now, Mrs. Smith will scold us if we let the water drip all over the rug again! Come, sit up and have some tea. I'll fetch the whiskey as well, it's damnably chilly.”

I hung his cloak and my topcoat outside in the hallway for Mrs. Smith, and returned to find him reclined again. My heart sank; the darkness that wrapped around him after a case had become a more frequent guest, arriving sooner every time. I feared for the well-being of my roommate, indeed, my partner, for we worked together like a well-oiled machine.

My roommate was none other than the celebrated detective, Jared Padalecki; a man of sublime intellect and extensive eccentricities. Sough after by ordinary folk and royals alike, there was no mystery that could ultimately withstand his keen mind and amazing methods of detection. He had trained his eye to miss nothing; no detail escaped him, and it was in the summation of those details that an answer would be deduced.

Besides his vocation of detective, Padalecki had numerous other skills and gifts. He was possessed of an inquisitive mind, and dabbled in experiments of many of the physical sciences simply for the sake of learning. He loved music, attending concerts of all kinds, and he played violin quite beautifully himself. I loved sitting and listening to him play—always the music would take a poignant turn, throbbing painfully in my heart and bringing me to the brink of tears before Padalecki would break off and put the instrument away. I never asked him what was going through his mind when he played so.

[ ](http://ic.pics.livejournal.com/firesign10/4507356/99139/99139_original.png)

This is not to say he was easy to live with. His chemistry experiments often ended in noxious fumes, driving us to open the windows regardless of the temperature outside, and sometimes with Mrs. Smith banging on our door, calling “Mr. Padalecki! Coal don't come cheap, sir!” He paid no attention to the clock, coming and going at all hours, thinking nothing of cooking a meal at three a.m. Or going for a walk before dawn. He was dreadfully untidy, strewing a swath of shirts, collars, socks, even his bathrobe, in a trail that made our rooms look like a tornado had swept through. Books and newspapers littered every flat surface. Dirty dishes were constantly ignored, and I soon learned to regularly empty the tin where he liked to tap his pipe out before the ashes overflowed on to the carpet.

At first, this made for quite an adjustment for me. Recently retired from the British Army for medical reasons, I was still young enough not to want to sit in some bucolic town and watch my cabbages grow. I chose to stay in London, having a small income from my retirement, and another ex-military friend, Christopher Kane, brought me notice of someone in a very nice set of rooms who was looking for a roommate. “Dr. Ackles,” Kane said over a pint. “I must tell you that the rooms are indeed pleasant and good-sized, and the man already living there seems to be a decent fellow. I have heard he is rather eccentric, though, so I advise you to go in with your eyes open.”

“I've dealt with many an odd fellow in my terms of service and my travels. As long as he is not running a brothel or constantly drunk, I am sure I can deal with him. But thank you for your concern.” And we toasted each other's health and fortune.

When I saw the rooms, I desired them very much, being that they were large and pleasantly outfitted, but when I met Jared Padalecki---well, he was not yet famous, so all I saw was a very tall, almost gawky man who still managed to move quite gracefully. His dark brown hair was unfashionably long, sweeping along his collar and frequently falling into his face, whereupon he would push it back with one hand. His speech was brisk and well-articulated. He was very open about his habits and activities, but as a doctor, I was used to getting up at all hours and I said that would not distress me. He was fascinated to learn of both my medical and military experiences, and again to hear that I was contemplating writing up my foreign adventures.

“A travelogue! I am quite interested in travel and other cultures. I like to study them--their dress, their speech, their food, their customs. Perhaps we might work together on a project, Doctor.” His bright eyes studied me: I looked as curiously back, for they were peculiar in color, being neither green, blue, or brown, but an amalgam of all three, set in an exotic tilt above high, sharp cheekbones.

“That sounds most interesting, Mr. Padalecki! I am at your disposal.” I had to drag my eyes away from his fascinating ones and focus on something mundane. “The furnishings seem comfortable and stoutly made, the rooms are a good size with excellent windows, and your housekeeper Mrs. Smith strikes me as a very capable woman. I think I'd be most pleased to reside here, if you'll have me.”

“Please, just call me Padalecki, or my Christian name is Jared.” He came over and shook my hand. I was struck how tall he really was, certainly some inches over six foot, and how large his paw looked against my own, not-insubstantial one. He poured us each a whiskey, and we toasted the beginning of our friendship.

Later, when I regarded my own visage in the glass, I felt quite plain and ordinary in comparison to Padalecki—I didn't feel comfortable calling him Jared yet, it seemed too intimate. My hair was short, of a nondescript sandy brown hue, and my eyes were a passable shade of green, but nothing like the multicolored orbs of Padalecki. A myriad of tiny freckles covered my skin, which the strong suns of the desert climes I had traveled through had done nothing to assuage. I sighed and turned away. At least I needn't worry about attracting and courting some dewy English miss, for my tastes ran not to women, but to men. I had found certain cultures to be more forgiving of this predilection, although any assignations had still been made with the greatest discretion. Now that I was back in my British homeland, however, I was unsure I would ever find a like-minded individual again, and was sadly contemplating eternal celibacy except for my own hand.

I wondered what it was going to be like, living with such an attractive, dynamic man like Jared Padalecki, but I took the rooms that day.

Over the next couple of years, Padalecki's fame as a detective spread. I took credit for some of this, as soon after moving into the rooms, I started accompanying him on his cases. He found me a good resource, what with my own medical learning, and he asked me to write his cases up for his records. I found the newspapers were interested in publishing some of my scribblings about Padalecki's odder hunts, and his renown slowly grew.

I like to think that beyond this professional assistance, he began to see me as a friend and enjoy my company. He invited me to go out with him, examining bodies and crime scenes alike, investigating and interrogating as he burrowed his way to the truth. My powers of observation paled next to his, but still he would always include my thoughts and suggestions as he pondered his deductions. Afterward, we would enjoy tea and spirits, chatting about the particulars of the crime and whatever other stories took our fancy. I grew to love seeing his wide smile, his merry laugh, as he relaxed for a bit. While I freely admitted how much I enjoyed that, I refused to acknowledge that a feeling was blooming inside me, a feeling that had nothing to do with being merely roommates.

While we had separate bedrooms, there was only one bathroom for us to share. Being two adult men, we were mostly modest, yet not overly unconcerned about being shirtless or clad in a robe before we dressed. I hadn't ever thought someone larger than myself would arouse me, preferring partners smaller in stature and frame until now, but Padalecki's long limbs, well-muscled and covered in tan skin, were indeed quite attractive. Even more so were his chest and shoulders; the first time I saw him without a shirt, I was tongue-tied at the sight of those smooth curves and bulges of muscle. Dark hair grew, albeit not too thickly, on his chest, which made my own hairless chest seem like that of a boy. Seeing what a beautiful body he had, I could only fantasize about what lay beneath his towel or robe, and I blush to admit that that fantasy fueled not a few pleasurable moments alone in my room.

I chalked my lustful thoughts up to being a healthy man without other recourse or outlet. Spending so many hours together as we did, surely it was natural I should become attracted to him. That he was such a splendid specimen of manhood merely exacerbated the situation. I began to take cold showers on a regular basis, which led Mrs. Smith to praise us on our increased frugality regarding the coal bin.

Padalecki seemed above the lures of the flesh; I never saw him comment on a woman—or a man, for that matter—beyond whatever observations he needed to make for a case, or for charming information out of an unwary soul. Any woman subjected to Padalecki's bow, his kiss upon their glove, the intensity of those multi-colored eyes, well...there were not a few ladies and damsels who cast longing eyes at him as he left a room. I could have told them, their smiles and simpers were for not. The most daring décolletage, the most blatant flirting; none of it excited Padalecki the way a fresh corpse or new scientific discovery did.

I even kept a most intent eye on him to see if he preferred men, but I could see no evidence in that regard. I thought of the rare humans I had met in my travels that eschewed any relations with either sex, preferring to study, meditate, or concentrate on elevating themselves in a more spiritual or knowledgeable manner. Padalecki, I surmised regretfully, must be one of that number.

Nonetheless our days were often busy, punctuated by the occasional lapse whereupon Padalecki would lounge lugubriously around the rooms, smoking his pipe, picking at meals, and only communicating in grunts and monosyllables. I would try to cheer him up, but eventually I would simply pray for some news of an awful crime or heinous murder to coax him out of his funk.

Not all the cases Padalecki was presented with were bloody or murderous. He was often consulted when particularly valuable items went missing, or where high-ranked society or dignitaries had a potentially embarrassing pickle to be extricated from. It was the puzzle that enthralled him, not the violence; like a bloodhound, he would sniff out the answer, tease the tangled threads free from some sticky snarl, and another accolade would be added to his name.

[ ](http://ic.pics.livejournal.com/firesign10/4507356/99582/99582_original.png)

One such society case I will always remember, for it was the one time I truly though he was attracted to a woman. She was a beauty; titian hair, creamy skin, deep brown eyes that sparkled with wit and intelligence. Her dresses were exquisitely cut of expensive fabrics, clinging to her full bosom and dainty waist. While she went to all manner of parties and soirees, rumor had it that she was also a dashing horsewoman and could fence as well as any man. Countless swains fell at her feet, but she patted their heads and laughed, declaring that she could never give herself to just one man.

She rang our doorbell one afternoon quite unexpectedly. When Mrs. Smith brought her up, I was stunned at her radiant appearance. Despite my preference for males, even I was affected by her beauty, style, and intelligence. Her perfume was perfect, being neither too sweet nor too spicy, but delicate and lingering, filling our flat most delightfully.

“Mr. Padalecki, Mr. Ackles, may I present Miss Danneel Harris, here to speak with you.” Mrs. Smith ushered Miss Harris into the parlor and withdrew.

“Mr. Ackles, Mr. Padalecki,” Miss Harris' soft sweet voice trilled. “I have a little problem that I implore you to help me with. All London talks of your exploits and cunning, so you were my first thought when my...little problem arose.”

Padalecki bent over her hand, pressing those sweet pink lips I dreamed about against the fine satin of her glove. “Dear lady, you flatter me. What might I be able to help you with?”

She told him of her trouble, some mish-mash of an old lover, a new fiancé, incriminating love letters, and imminent blackmail. Evidently she planned to leave London and the society life as soon as she married the lucky fellow, but these letters threatened her new life. It was not a dire matter as such, but it was clearly very important to her, and Padalecki agreed to help her.

Through the few weeks that he was engaged on this matter, I frequently heard of his admiration for Miss Harris. I fervently wished that I could similarly garner his attention, but instead I sighed and aided him as best I could. While Miss Harris was naturally flirtatious, it was clear that her heart was truly set upon her fiancé, so I knew nothing would come of it. Still, it was unusual to see Padalecki so enthralled by anyone. Unusual...and painful, sending sharp little barbs into my heart, inflaming my constant pining into a state of acute heartsickness.

At last Padalecki was able to hand her the letters with a flourish. It took him disguising himself as a peddler, some well-laid smoke bombs, and a race between two hansom cabs, but he obtained them. Now she was free to marry and leave the social whirl, retiring to a country manor far from London.

“Oh, Mr. Padalecki! I'm so terribly grateful!” Miss Harris flung herself at him, his long arms catching her before she fell. “If he'd kept these—oh, it would have ruined everything.” Her eyes sparkled with unshed tears, and she pressed her rose-pink lips against Padalecki's cheek, ignoring the dark stubble that was present.

He clasped her to him for a moment, holding her tenderly. She leaned against him, resting her head on his shoulder, one small hand on his chest. I—I could not stand to look, but I was unable to tear my eyes away. A large lump swelled in my throat, half-choking me, and I felt as chilled as if I'd just come in from a December evening. Any glimmer of hope about ever gaining Padalecki's affections evaporated in that moment. Despite my efforts to be realistic all along, I found myself bereft of hopes I hadn't entirely realized I'd even harbored.

Padalecki and Miss Harris disengaged from each other, and she dabbed at her eyes with a delicate lawn handkerchief. “I'm eternally in your debt, sir.” Miss Harris turned to me. “Of course, to you as well, Dr. Ackles. I know Jared does nothing without your assistance.” She extended her hand to me.

Moving automatically, I picked it and brushed a polite kiss across the back of it. I nodded, not yet trusting my voice to speech, and stood frozen while Miss Harris crossed to the door and let herself out. I thought I would feel better after her departure, but my chest was still tight, my lungs aching. I forced my legs to move, heading stiffly toward my room, hoping Padalecki would follow his usual post-case behavior pattern and lounge upon the chaise, smoking his pipe and reading the evening papers.

I was almost at my bedroom door, beyond which my sanctuary lay; my fingers just brushed the metal doorknob when Padalecki spoke.

“Ackles! Come and have a drink! We must toast to our success!”

Turning, I saw him sitting up, those intriguing eyes bright, that beautiful mouth smiling. He arose and walked to the sideboard, pulling out the whiskey decanter and two glasses.

Part of me thought it was a mistake, but I found myself walking over to my favorite club chair and sitting, taking the glass he held out to me. We clinked our glasses and drank. The whiskey was delicious, hot and rich as it burned down my throat. I drank again, then held it out for more.

“You are in a mood,” Padalecki said, eyeing me appraisingly while he poured another slug in our glasses. “What is on your mind, my dear doctor? You seem to be less jovial and more introspective tonight, for an occasion where we have been successful. We saved that lovely creature's honor, Ackles, and that is a job well done.”

I drank deeply, my insides now warm and relaxed with the whiskey. The fumes tickled my nose and I chuckled. Looking at Padalecki's face, all those perfect angles and dark messy hair, my chuckle softened to a smile. I wanted to touch that smooth honey skin, so I reached out and brushed his cheek with my fingertips. He held very still, his expression now serious.

“Jensen?”

Hearing my Christian name, so rarely used, in that soft, rich voice undid me. I leaned forward and kissed him, merely pressing my lips to his for a few blissful seconds.

Then he pulled back from me. “Jensen?” he asked again, a look on his face I could not identify. I stood still, unable to decide if retreat was the best option, staring at Padalecki—at Jared.

“Jensen, is that...is that how you feel about me?” Jared queried, and suddenly I was able to identify the look on his face. It was the look of a man unsure of himself; as such, it was a look I had never seen on the face of the dynamic, the confident, Jared Padalecki before.

“Yes,” I managed to croak. “I do. I never—well, please don't worry about it. I promise you'll never see another unseemly display from me again. I deeply apologize for any embarrassment.” I stepped back, ready to make an escape to my room.

He reached a long arm out and caught me. “You caught me unawares. Give me a moment to muse about this.” He studied me, those blue/brown/gold eyes intently surveying me. I fidgeted nervously, suddenly feeling sympathetic to anyone who'd been caught in that piercing gaze. I opened my mouth to babble something, but he held up one elegant hand to stop me. 

“Padalecki—Jared...”

“Shh.” He ran a finger down my cheek, brushed my lips with his thumb. “You—you've felt this for a while, haven't you? Harbored these feelings, unbeknownst to me. How terribly unobservant of me; here I scope out the thoughts and plans of souls unknown to me, but of the one closest to home, I am in ignorance. Shameful.”

Jared drew closer to me. “Jensen...I owe you an apology.” I shook my head, but he nodded. “I am sure you've suffered with these feelings and with not knowing how I felt in return. That was very unfair of me.” He cupped my chin. “Let me tell you now and right the wrong I have done you, however unconsciously.”

I was frozen now; I could not have moved if Mrs. Smith had burst in crying of disasters and earthquakes. I could only watch as Jared's face drew near, could only accept the kiss he pressed on my lips. His arms came around me, one around my shoulders, the other encircling my waist, and those arms pulled me close; so very close, closer than I'd ever hoped for, until I could feel the very beating of his heart against my own chest, and his hard length against my hip.

“Jared...” I said when his mouth pulled away. “You don't have to...”

“Jensen Ackles,” he scolded me softly with a smile. “Tell me, when does Jared Padalecki ever do what he didn't want to do?” His eyes traveled over my face and came back to study me. “I've thought about this quite a long time, but for all my vaunted observations skills, I seem to have been oblivious here at home. I'm so sorry, Jensen, for leaving you alone, unknowing of my feelings. To find you share them, well...” He chuckled, a rich warm sound that curled up in my belly and made my manhood stir. “Well, I think we shall have a host of new adventures, just you and me.” He kissed me again, this time harder, our mouths opening and exploring in a completely abandoned manner. Of course Padalecki, being so skilled at everything, would be a master kisser. I thought about what that could mean once we were naked together, and groaned.

“If this is what you want, Jensen?” His lips were darker, slightly puffed from the debauched kiss, and I thought that if we did not undress soon, I was liable to rip my trousers.

“Yes! Yes to this, to us, to adventures together!” I surged back at him, holding him tightly.

“No adventures that the Evening Gazette will ever hear of!” He ran a hand through my hair, and I realized mine were woven into his long dark strands. His lips brushed my ear as he whispered, “Although were we to write this case up, we could call it The Case of the Oblivious Heart.”

[ ](http://ic.pics.livejournal.com/firesign10/4507356/98996/98996_original.png)


End file.
